


Things Said in the Dark

by Mad_Maudlin



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, HugJonSims2k19, I just wanted to write a hug and then plot happened, Trapped In A Closet, but not technically shippy, canon-typical gay pining, spoilers thru 135, then again y'all know me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 08:25:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18752662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Maudlin/pseuds/Mad_Maudlin
Summary: Jon and Martin end up trapped in a cupboard while a monster rampages outside. Sounds familiar, doesn't it?For the HugJonSims2k19 challenge.





	Things Said in the Dark

Jon fled blindly through the Institute, and he  _ was  _ blinded, by more than natural dark. The thing pursuing him was huge, though its body plan was impossible to discern aside from  _ pointy in too many places. _ At least he'd managed to pull the fire alarm, and he could only hope there wasn't something worse waiting outside the building while this thing came for him. 

Hot, foul breath bloomed against his back, and he stumbled around a corner. He couldn't outrun this thing, couldn't fight it — its mind was nothing but shadows and boundless hunger _.  _ He might  conceivably have tried to hide, except for the part where it was native to the darkness and he couldn't bloody  _ see— _

Something caught his arm, and he'd have shouted if he'd had the breath to do it. Even as he realized that this wasn't the claws of the beast, he was being shoved to one side; he stumbled, and the hands he threw out to catch himself actually found purchase on something. A door slammed behind him, shockingly loud, and for a moment he wasn't certain where he was or who, if anyone, was with him. Only that the creature's thundering footfalls were drawing closer

...and then fading away. 

The blue-white screen of a phone cut through the darkness, revealing two things: he was in a large cupboard full of office supplies, bracing himself on several boxes of printer paper. Between him and the door, filling up most of the remaining room, was Martin.

"Are you all right?" Martin was breathing almost as hard as Jon, but the hand holding the phone was steady. His voice was only just audible above the wailing alarm.

"I think so." Jon felt for his own phone, but apparently he'd misplaced it at some point on his headlong flight. He glanced at Martin from the corner of his eye, trying to figure out if this was a coincidence or if he'd on some level Known where to find him, no matter how he tried. "Are you, er—"

"Fine." Martin turned back to the door and pressed an ear against it, like anything might be audible over the alarms. "What is that thing?"

"The People's Church send their regards, I supposed?" Martin just looked confused, or perhaps annoyed with him; Jon cleared his throat. "I don't actually know, exactly."

"I thought … that was a whole thing now?"

Was there something accusatory in Martin's tone? Or was he reading too much into it? Jon choked down on a sarcastic retort, the old reflex that had served him so poorly for so long. "It's a creature of the Dark. I can't … I think the Eye and the Dark cancel each other out. I can't get anything off it."

Martin bit his lower lip for a moment. "The power's out, and all my torches are in my office."

Jon wanted to ask,  _ what torches?  _ Or perhaps, more practically,  _ how many?  _ Wanted to ask where they even were, because his mental map of the Institute had utterly broken down, and more specifically which office was Martin's now. He wanted to thank Martin for the timely rescue, for saving him yet again…

But their last few conversations had been all  _ Stop finding me  _ and  _ I can't know.  _ Jon would respect Martin's wishes. Jon wouldn't keep inserting himself where he wasn't wanted.

Instead he tried to think through what he knew about the Dark, what had possibly worked against it before. "This might be the same creature that targeted the Montauk family, but we don't exactly have the time for forty-some ritual murders."

Martin huffed quietly and murmured, "I specifically asked for  _ less  _ murder."

Jon really shouldn't ask, but— "What?"

"I…" Martin sighed, and cringed a little, as if just now remembering that he wasn't actually supposed to be talking to Jon. "Never mind. I should — is it safe to turn this off?"

Jon almost said no, because of how thoroughly space and time warped in the shadows — but practically speaking, the battery wasn't going to last forever, and they might need the light if they actually came up with a plan. "Might as well."

The darkness of the cupboard wasn't quite the same choking void as the darkness that had manifested the monster. Or perhaps there was just the comfort, however minor, of knowing he wasn't alone in it. Then again, Martin had been working with Lukas — Jon couldn't say whether the thought was tinged with bitterness or fear — so "alone" might be a matter of degree…

No. If Martin was that far gone, he wouldn't have bothered to save him. There was that, at least. 

And he shouldn't be picking at Martin's choices like a scab, anyway, because there was nothing he could do about them. If he wanted to worry about something, he ought to focus on the  _ rampaging monster.  _ (That thought came to him with a distinctly Welsh tinge.) Sunrise might be enough to drive it off, or at least neutralize its threat, but that was hours off — assuming they weren't already in some Dark pocket dimension like the one inside Hither Green Chapel, where dawn might never come...

"We could try waiting it out?" Martin said tentatively, (unhappily). "Even if it can cut the electricity, it surely can't put out the  _ sun?" _

"It's not the one trying to," Jon said. "But that alarm is going to attract the fire brigade, and possibly the police, long before sunrise. Even if they bring torches…"

"...it might not be enough to save them," Martin finished. There was a soft  _ thunk _ , and Jon could clearly imagine him leaning against a shelf full of manila folders and bulk paper clips. "So what do we do?"

"I don't know," Jon admitted. "If Daisy and Basira made it out … they've faced the People's Church before." 

"And … if they didn't?"

Jon sighed. "I don't know. I don't … let's hope they did."

He carefully sat down on the stack of boxes, once he was sure they wouldn't collapse under his weight. If the others hadn't made it out, if that thing had torn them apart like it had Robert Montauk before it came for him … or worse, if it had lost his scent and was coming from them even as he sat here, doing nothing, helpless,  _ useless… _

"At least I've got use of both my legs this time," he said, more to himself than to Martin, trying for some shred of gallows humor to stop himself from spiralling. 

Martin gave a soft "oh," and there was a noise like he was shifting his weight. "I — yeah. Not sure this is any better than worms, though."

Jon flinched. Of course. Martin wouldn't want to be reminded of the last time they'd been trapped in a cupboard by a monster. The first time they'd really talked about anything meaningful … God, they'd been naive. Barely scratching at the edges of what this place was, what Jon was becoming, but already in too deep to escape. 

Of course, now they knew everything, and it wasn't exactly helping. At least back then Martin hadn't hated him, even if he'd had every right...

This time Martin interrupted Jon's bleak train of thought. "Who's trying to put out the sun?" 

"Sorry?"

"You said the monster isn't the one trying to put out the sun," Martin said. "But it's not … this isn't just a coincidence, is it? What's going on?"

"I thought you didn't want to know," Jon said, and only realized too late how that could be interpreted.

Martin's voice went sharp and icy in a way that had rarely been directed at Jon before. "I'm just trying to help."

Jon leaned back on his seat of boxes and lightly bonked his head on a shelf in the process. "The People's Church of the Divine Host. Or whatever they're calling themselves these days. Gertrude stopped their ritual just before she died, but they're already preparing for another attempt, somehow. Basira and I have been working on a way to stop it, and I supposed they caught on."

"How, though?" Martin asked. "Unless you went up to their headquarters and announced yourselves...." Then, after a moment, he added, tentatively, "You didn't, did you?

"I did not," Jon snapped, stung. He wasn't  _ that  _ stupid. Anymore. "And they might not actually know what we know. This could be a, a pre-emptive strike of some sort, to keep us busy in London while they make their preparations in Ny-Ålesund."

Martin made a small sound, barely an intake of breath, but before he could say anything, there was a deep, echoing roar from the corridor outside. It seemed perfectly tuned to make Jon's bones vibrate, to reach into whatever small mammalian parts of his brain remained and remind him that he could be prey. He had no idea how close that growl was, or what direction — surely it had heard his voice, though? Surely it could hear his breathing? His juddering heart—?

He heard Martin move, though the sound seemed to come from a long way off. He jumped when he felt a questing hand land on his shoulder. It was just a hand, but Jon was pathetically grateful for it, and the connection it represented. Perhaps Martin wasn't so deep under Lukas's sway after all. Or perhaps, even if he was, he was still capable of some shred of compassion.

Perhaps Jon was still capable of a few virtues, himself.

"I'll draw it off," he whispered, rising to his feet. 

"W-what?"

"So you can get out," Jon elaborated. "I can … lure it off somewhere. Try to trap it."

Both Martin's hands found his arms and squeezed. "Are you  _ insane?" _

"We've agreed we can't fight it," he said, fighting to keep his voice level. "And we can't be sure of help from the others. But you can still get out of here if I provide a distraction."

"Jon." Martin's voice quavered. "That thing will kill you."

Jon swallowed. "Better one of us than both of us."

He tried to move past Martin, but Martin's grip was firm, and the cupboard was narrow enough for him to block the door entirely. "It doesn't have to be you," he said. "I can—"

"No!" Now it was Jon's turn to snatch at a handful of Martin's shirt. "No, Martin, it's not — I survived the Unknowing, I survived the coffin, I can survive—"

"Jon, I am trying to  _ protect  _ you," Martin said with a quiet intensity.

Jon shook his head, though in the dark he didn't know if Martin could tell. "I'm a monster, Martin. I'm not  _ worth  _ it."

Martin inhaled so sharply and suddenly that Jon worried he was somehow in pain. Then, quite abruptly, he released his grip on Jon's arms — only to immediately wrap him up in both of his own. Jon tried to squirm away on pure instinct, but Martin held on, and eventually Jon realized he wasn't being dragged or thrown or pinned. Just...held. Hugged. 

"I don't care what you are," Martin hissed in Jon's ear. "I don't. I lost you once and I'm not doing that again, so...so get used to that. I may not be good for much else around here, but I  _ can  _ protect you and I  _ will."  _

Jon swallowed, and tried to take a deep breath, though his face was mashed awkwardly into Martin's collarbone. There were a  _ lot  _ of things to unpack, all of a sudden, and a lot of questions he didn't trust himself to say. One thing he could, though. "You're not … we still need you, Martin. Down in the archives."

Martin huffed softly, ruffling Jon's hair. "Right. To stand around with a cup of tea and hope things will turn out all right?" 

_ "Yes.  _ That. Exactly that."

Jon couldn't have said how long they actually stood there; he was excruciatingly aware of every point of contact, but eventually his hands found Martin's sides and settled there. Martin's grip relaxed by incremental steps as he accepted that Jon wasn't trying to get away anymore, but he didn't let go. Jon could think of a lot of things to say or ask or mention, but couldn't find the words to express them, and he was afraid that if he said anything else he'd destroy this strange and fragile moment.

Then the fire alarms stopped, and the ringing silence forced Jon back to reality. Cupboard. Monster. Right. They both took a step back at the same moment, and if Martin sniffled a bit, Jon didn't comment on it. "That's either the fire brigade or the police. Or — Lukas, I suppose."

"Probably not Peter," Martin said tartly. "Seeing as it involves a machine and he hasn't called me to do it for him."

That pulled a startled laugh out of Jon, though he smothered it as Martin very gently eased the cupboard door open. A thin strip of light fell through the gap like a benediction, and they both breathed a sigh of relief. "Didn't even need an axe this time," Jon said, grasping for something light and not quite reaching it.

Martin didn't open the door fully, though. "I...have to go," he said slowly, hesitantly. 

Jon bit his lip, but choked down any comments about mixed signals he might've made. Of course it was too much to hope that declarations in the dark would matter once the crisis was over. "Of course. I … I won't keep you."

That strip of light illuminated a thin slice of Martin's face, just an eye, a cheek, a patch of freckles. "You should … Peter's been spying on you."

Jon's fists clenched involuntarily. "He has, has he?"

"Peter's also been planning a trip to Norway," Martin continued flatly. 

And here Jon had thought the worst thing Peter had done was whoosh a few people. Suddenly a lot of puzzle pieces were falling into place. "Is that...I mean, the 'project' you and he were…?"

"No. Maybe?" Martin's eye shut briefly. "I just wanted to help."

Jon reached out, carefully, and brushed his fingers against the back of Martin's hand. "Let me help. We can figure something out together."

Martin caught his hand briefly and squeezed it. "I'll … we'll talk more soon. I promise."

"Be careful, for god's sake."

"You, too."

Jon watched him slip out of the door, out of sight, and sighed. After a few moments, enough to grant plausible deniability, he followed. He needed to find out if the others were okay, and then he and Basira needed to have a talk about counterintelligence. It would be a good distraction while he waited to see Martin again. 


End file.
